Paperboys lack actual colleagues,
but I was a part-time paper boy,
and my mother, a part-time colleague.
When I’d oversleep, or in bad weather,
she’d rescue me from the steep daily grind.
“Leave the bike home. I’ll drive, to save time.”
That was all; guilt trips were not her way.
(Those were the bailiwick of my father.)

When I was short of friends, she and I played.
I’d kick a soccer ball up the driveway,
mostly relishing the crashing echo
of ball against door. But Mom would bellow,
when I tattooed her legs. Now, that’s a friend!
Only with her death would our friendship end.

Excerpted from Colleagues: 1954-2014

 

Ron Singer’s poetry has appeared, e.g., in alba, Anemone Sidecar, Avatar Review, Borderlands, The Brooklyn Rail, Cake, Ducts, Evergreen Review, Grey Sparrow, The Hampden-Sydney Poetry Review, Strong Verse, Waterways: Poetry in the Mainstream, Windsor Review,  andWord Riot. He is also the author of ten books. For details, www.ronsinger.net

Related Post

‘The Oddity’ and Other Poetry by Mark Stevick   The Oddity My pen and me set off to sea but washed up feeing useless; the cadent swell invoked a spell and story of Odysseus. While...

One Response

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.